


The Dreidels Are Loaded (A Hanukkah Story)

by daisylore



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Hanukkah, Jewish Arthur, Learning about Jewish holidays!, M/M, Not a ton of plot, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9040604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylore/pseuds/daisylore
Summary: Scenes from Eames's first Hanukkah (or perhaps Chanukah; he's not really sure) with Arthur.





	1. The First Night – The Night of the Shamash

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to update every night throughout Hanukkah! And, along the way, maybe we'll find out if the traditions described here are ubiquitous or unique to my mother's family, because I really don't know. Hope you enjoy! Note: rating may go up; I have not yet decided.

“Darling, I have returned!” Eames shouted as he fell through the doorway to his and Arthur’s apartment, laden down with approximately eight dozen shopping bags. “I hope I got everything we need.”

Arthur stared at him, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Eames did a slight double take. “For Hanukkah, Arthur. In a few hours from now? At sundown?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it started tonight,” Arthur mused. “I don’t have any plans this year. I don’t tend to be terribly observant on my own.”

“Or, are you more Jew- _ish_ , darling?” Eames asked, clearly amused with himself.

“Don’t think you’re not the thousandth person to come up with that joke,” Arthur replied. “Besides, I still know more than you do. What have you even bought?”

“I am shocked that you would doubt my knowledge, Arthur. I’ll have you know that I have a doctorate from Oxford in – “

“A forged doctorate.”

“Well, yes, but that’s besides the point. I am extremely well prepared for the next eight nights, and you will just have to celebrate them, too, because you love me.”

“Well…” Arthur began, a teasing lilt suddenly taking over his voice, before Eames shut him up with a quick kiss.

“Would you do this with me, though? I know that it’s a difficult year, but I think that means we should make some new traditions together, to honor the old ones?”

Arthur nodded, and let Eames pull him into a tight hug. It had been around ten months since Arthur’s grandmother had passed away, but the loss had been feeling more poignant as of late, since he’d spent every December except for this one with her, at her home back in the states. He didn’t have to tell Eames. Eames knew.

And Eames, bless him, sensing that he was about to turn from wistful to mournful, started to dance him around their living room, still wrapped up tight in his arms, moving them around in circles until they lost their balance and fell onto the couch.

“Okay,” Arthur whispered again, and kissed him gently on the nose.

++

“So, what did you buy, anyway?” Arthur asked after closing his eyes for a few minutes – he didn’t _nap_ , okay? – to reset a little.

“Well, I was actually at a bit of a loss, but I think I have the basics,” Eames said, getting up to retrieve his purchases from the doorway. “I got candles, though, but I wasn’t sure which size, really.”

Arthur burst out laughing as he rummaged through the tote bag that Eames had handed to him. “Eames, did you buy out the entire aisle?”

“I said I wasn’t sure,” Eames began, a bit defensively, as Arthur doubled over and started to empty the bag out onto the coffee table. There was a collection of enormously wide scented candles – vanilla – first, slightly yellow-gold in color. Next, birthday cake candles, pink and blue striped. Then, a candle that proclaimed to be scented like the (admittedly luscious, at least according to Arthur) prime minister of Canada. And, finally, a whole set of candles shaped like the numbers one through eight, white with rainbow polka dots on them.

“Oh, Eames, have you ever seen a picture of a menorah, even?”

“I might have just been guessing. But at least I was thorough. There’s eight, though; I at least got that right!”

Arthur hit him playfully on the shoulder with the Justin Trudeau candle. “We need nine,” he corrected. “Eight for each night of the festival, and then one _shamash_ – that’s the helper that you use to light the other candles.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, we can use the birthday candles; that was a pack of ten, wasn’t it?”

Eames nodded. “What ever will we do with the others?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and gave Eames the closest look to a leer that he had. “We’ll think of something.” He suddenly paused and then got up and began to rustle around in the closet. “I’m pretty sure I have the menorah that she gave me back when I went off to college, actually. I’ve never used it, though, because I always spent Hanukkah with her.”

“It seems like a good time to start,” said Eames. “Show it to me?”

The menorah, held in a somewhat dusty blue velvet box, was a simple silver one. “Where should we put it, darling?”

“We can rest it on the coffee table,” Arthur replied. “I’ll light it tonight, but you can try it later, once you’ve copied the blessings onto your palm to read.”

“It’s a plan,” Eames agreed, grinning so widely that Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return. They settled together on the couch and snuggled under the blankets, waiting for sundown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The [Trudeau candle](https://www.etsy.com/listing/475277953/justin-trudeau-scented-candle) is real, because the internet is a magical place.


	2. The Second Night – The Night of the Hanukkah Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Eames do arts and crafts.

“So, how do presents work?” Eames asked as he stroked one hand up and down Arthur’s thigh, soothing him as he relaxed.

“I’m pretty sure you just gave me one,” Arthur purred, stretching out his arms and legs with a glazed, contented look on his face.

“Oh, don’t act like I don’t do that for you all the time,” Eames quipped.

“ _For_ me? Didn’t exactly seem like a hardship for you,” Arthur said, pushing at Eames’s chest.

Eames looked straight at Arthur and smirked.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Nope, I absolutely will not,” Eames said, biting and sucking a little mark just above Arthur’s collarbone. “I mean, if you want this to stop, you’ll have to go, and it’s terribly cold outside, darling.”

“Anyway. What were you asking?”

“Presents. Do we just exchange them on the last day? Or were we meant to do a gift every day? Oh fuck, have I missed a day already?”

“Yes. I’m terribly insulted. Get out,” Arthur deadpanned.

“Will you let me make it up to you?” Eames asked, batting his eyelashes. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“We would do a present a day if we were kids, but little ones, nothing big except on one day when there would be a special gift. I used to get eight books, and then on one of the nights there would be something more like a toy.”

“I would _love_ to hear what child-Arthur thought of as a toy. Oh, no, it wasn’t just extra books, was it?”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “No, but I did like the books. I used to get a lot of building blocks, but I wasn’t so into the actual architecture then as I was into sending it all crashing down to the floor once I was done.”

Eames flipped over onto his stomach. “And here I was, thinking you had always been a control freak, and it turns out you were a chaotic nightmare. Poor Rose, having to parent you.”

“Yeah, that didn’t come until a while later, I’m afraid.”

“So,” Eames began, propping himself up on his forearms, “how do we pick the day for the special gift?”

“We make a Hanukkah chain,” Arthur replied, as if this were the most obvious and self-explanatory thing ever.

“Pray tell, darling.”

“It’s a chain of paper links, four white and four blue. You number each link, then have one person on each side and pull until one of the links breaks. The number of the one that breaks is the day when you do presents.”

Eames’s eyes twinkled a little. Deep down, Arthur knew that Eames was just a kid who liked to sit around and smear paint and paste on the walls, so the idea of a craft was clearly exciting to him.

“You can decorate the paper first if you want,” Arthur said. Eames leapt out of bed in excitement.

++

Eames had refused to let Arthur see his four strips of paper until he was done. “Patience is a virtue, darling,” he’d said, earning himself a truly menacing glare, the kind that Arthur saved for only him.

When he was finished, he handed them to Arthur. They were surprisingly tasteful – one with thin pinstripes in a light silver hand, one with faint Swiss dots on blue, one with swirling fleur-de-lis, and, finally, one covered in marks that Arthur couldn’t quite discern at first. Not wanting to go get his glasses from the other room, he reached over to turn on the lamp – it was almost sunset, after all – to take a closer look. The strip of paper was covered with tiny little ligatures of their initials joined together, æ.

“You sap,” Arthur said, his heart feeling fit to burst, before attacking Eames with his mouth.

++

It was the pinstriped link that tore, in the end, for day number five. Eames taped it back together and put the chain on the mantel, sentimental as he was.


	3. The Third Night - The Night of Gelt (and of Stomachaches)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames get a little overexcited by chocolate. A short chapter tonight!

“Eugh,” Arthur heard Eames moan from the bedroom. “Arthur, why did you let this happen to me?”

“I don’t remember forcing you to do anything, you fool,” Arthur shouted back. He put down his bowl of soup with an exaggeratedly resounded thump on the table and wondered over to loom in the doorway. “You’d think a grown man would know better, honestly.”

“Not. Helping.” Eames was lying curled up on his side, away from the door, but raised his hand up to greet Arthur with a two-fingered salute. Arthur giggled.

“I’m sorry, Eames. I just don’t know how you didn’t see this coming.”

“Well, when my family did Christmas, we had an advent calendar. One chocolate per day. Not this crazy nonsense where you eat an entire fortune’s full of chocolate in one sitting.”

“No one said you had to eat five bags of gelt all at once.”

“You shouldn’t keep them all in the same place! And each one is too small, so you’re obviously going to take another, and then before you know it, you’re sitting in a mountain of foil wrappers, filled with regret, waiting to die alone.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here for your final hours.” Arthur moved to sit on the bed next to Eames, stroking his back. “I’m sorry your stomach hurts. And I’m sorry you’re being such a baby about it.” He gave his shoulder a bit of a slap before getting up and walking into the bathroom.

“Shut up Arthur,” Eames mumbled into the pillow.

“Just hold on for a minute, babe.” Arthur didn’t usually use pet names, but he seemed to relax into them whenever Eames wasn’t feeling good, physically. He ran the water in the bath until it was just the temperature that he knew Eames liked the shower, a little hotter than Arthur felt was comfortable, and then plugged and filled the tub.

“Okay, come on, up you get,” he said, pulling Eames up off the bed and shoving him into the bathroom, closing the door behind both of them. He undressed Eames and eased him into the water.

“Hmm, feels good,” Eames murmured.

Arthur sat down on the seat next to the tub, pushing aside the toiletries that usually lived there, and ran his fingers through Eames’s hair. “Oh, I forgot!” Arthur rummaged around in the cupboard under the sink and retrieved the bottle of bubble bath to add some to the water.

“Did you already own that?” Eames asked.

“Any comments and I’ll shove more chocolate in your mouth to shut you up.”


	4. The Fourth Night – The Night of Learning the Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames lights the menorah.

Eames paced around the sitting area, murmuring to himself from his index card.

“What does it mean?” he asked when he noticed Arthur watching him.

“The blessing?” Arthur responded. “Um, Blessed art thou, Eloheinu our God, ruler of the universe… something something about the lights, Hanukkah.”

Eames laughed a little. “That’s beautiful, darling. Wonderfully specific.”

“Yeah, I know… to be honest, I’ve always been more culturally Jewish than religiously. I never had a bar mitzvah, even – hence, not understanding any Hebrew.”

“Do you wish you had? Been more religious, I mean.”

Arthur paused to consider the question. It wasn’t something he and Eames had ever really spoken about before. “Not really, I guess. Occasionally, I do, especially since my grandmother died. But it’s more out of compunction to honor the people in my family who were more religious, not because I really believe in it myself.”

“Did you feel pressured?”

“No, Jewish families – well, mine and those of my friends, at least – seem to be very accepting of a lack of religious belief if respect for the culture is still there. And I do like the culture. Traditions, food, a sense of community. Using random Yiddish words that end up confusing all your gentile friends. I like having it as part of my identity, even if it isn’t based in religious faith.”

“Adds a sense of uniqueness.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Arthur nodded. “How about you? I mean, I guess I know you were raised Christian, but not much beyond that, I suppose.”

“That’s honestly all there is to be said,” Eames responded. “I don’t really know. We went through the motions with all the major holidays every year, even went to mass services, but there was never much of anything behind it. You know how my parents were a bit detached, so it wasn’t surprising that Christmas felt a bit hollow.” Eames huffed out a little breath, trying to smile in spite of the thoughts. He and Arthur had spoken about it before, plenty of times, but it still felt weird to come out and talk about it.

“Well, that’s why we’re making this new tradition,” Arthur said, giving Eames a tight hug.

++

Eames looked up to Arthur for approval before striking the match to light the shamash. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur said earnestly.

“Okay.” Eames took a deep breath, and began to light the four candles.

“ _Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.”_ His voice quavered a little, but Arthur nodded through it.

“Proud of me?” Eames asked, his mirth returning, after replacing the shamash and looking at the menorah, now half lit.

“I’m kvelling,” Arthur replied, his voice completely flat, but then broke out into a grin.


	5. The Fifth Night – The Night of Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur likes shiny things.

“What the fuck,” Arthur spat as he collapsed back onto the couch after having lost the third straight game of speed scrabble. “How is this happening?”

“I’m sorry, darling; I should have remembered you’re a bit of a sore loser,” Eames jested, picking up his winning tile and pretending to polish it like a trophy.

“More like you’re a sore winner,” Arthur grumbled. “And I am not.”

“Oh, of course not,” Eames teased. “Are you ready for a rematch? Best of seven, dearest? Or shall we try normal scrabble for a change?”

“Fuck off, you know that you’d just do even better,” Arthur said, staring down at the table, where Eames had somehow managed to play a word like “oxidize” or “jalopy” every time that Arthur had only managed to put down three letters. He sighed.

“Should I make it up to you by letting you manhandle me a bit?” Eames raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Arthur nodded to emphasize his agreement, as ridiculous (and, okay, fine, _charming_ ) he found the verbal exchange of physical power. “But first, it’s getting dark out, and it’s the fifth night, so it’s time.”

Eames got an excited look on his face. “Presents!” He shouted gleefully.

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of himself.

++

Once the menorah was lit, Arthur retrieved their gifts from both of their respective hiding places – how he knew where, Eames would never be sure – and brought them back to the couch.

“Ooh, two presents,” Eames said appreciatively. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Not much, but I love you anyway,” Arthur said. “Alright, three, two, one, open ‘em.” On cue, they both began tearing into the wrapping paper, leaving a shred of blue and silver confetti all over the sofa cushions.

Eames went for the bigger present first, predictably, and pulled out a beautifully bound tome. He turned it over to read the embossed gold lettering of the title. “ _Oscar Wilde: An Anthology_. Oh, this is lovely, darling.”

“I know how much you missed reading physical books,” Arthur admitted, “so I got you the dustiest, smelliest book in the entire shop.”

Eames grinned. Arthur was fibbing, of course. Arthur was as well read as he was and no doubt understood all the silly Dorian Gray references Eames had made over the years.

“Thank you,” Eames said. “Now open up yours.”

Arthur took the lid of the sturdy black cardboard box that had been in his gift-wrapping to find a watch. A rose-gold face on a black band. It was elegant and simple and luxurious and completely Arthur’s taste.

“Do you like it?” Eames asked.

“It’s gorgeous,” Arthur said, his voice somewhat hushed and reverent as he slipped the watch out of its case.

“Here’s the best part,” Eames said as he took hold the watch and Arthur’s wrist so he could put it on. “Right here in the closure.”

Arthur looked down where Eames had clicked the band open and saw a USB drive. “That’s so cool,” he said, enthusiastic.

“Now you won’t always need to carry one. And, you seem like a proper spy.”

“I love it,” Arthur said, giving Eames a kiss. “Okay, one more.”

Eames opened the present. “Twinings!”

“Yes, I ordered it special. I know all this French tea was driving you mad.”

Eames leapt off the couch. “Do you want a cuppa?”

++

“Okay,” Arthur said, after they’d drunk their tea and Eames had read “The Sphinx Without a Secret” aloud.

“Okay?” Eames repeated, a bit confused.

“You promised me something earlier,” Arthur said, leading Eames into the bedroom. “It’s time.”

Eames got an excited look on his face. “Oh, right! How could I forget our delightfully spontaneous scheduled sex?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling in spite of himself. “Shut up and get to work,” he said, pulling Eames in close for a kiss.


	6. The Sixth Night – The Night of Applesauce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames has never read the classic children's book _Latkes and Applesauce._

“What is this?” Eames asked, brandishing the shiny steel contraption about.

“It’s a ricer,” Arthur said, not taking his eyes off the giant pot on the stove. Eames loved this look on Arthur – casual, t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, adorned with a big beige apron that had a few specks already on it – not to mention a smudge of something on his nose. Eames wiped it off with a grin.

“Are you making rice?”

“Nope. It’s usually used to mash potatoes because it forces it into the shape of rice; you don’t use it on rice itself.”

Eames looked into the pot. “Doesn’t look like potatoes, either.”

“They’re apples. I’m making applesauce.”

Eames made a face. “Why? The only time applesauce is palatable is on pork chops, and I’m pretty sure you’re not making pork chops during Hanukkah.”

“They’re for the latkes,” Arthur replied. “Trust me, this is a thing, and it’s good.”

Eames furrowed his brow. “Okay, I guess I’ll wait and see, then. How do you make applesauce? I didn’t even realize people _made_ their own applesauce.”

“You stew the apples in apple cider until they’re soft, just like this,” Arthur said, offering Eames the spoon so he could examine the consistency of the mixture. “Then work them through the ricer. It’s pretty simple.”

“Okay. And why are we making so much?”

“Because I found out this morning that we’re going to a latke party.”

“I’m confused by so much in that sentence.”

Arthur laughed. “Ask away.”

“A latke _party_?”

“Yeah, latke-making is a bit of an event, so often you’ll get your entire extended family, or group of friends, together to feed the masses all in one go. You get a mass production line going. Also, then only one person’s kitchen smells like latkes for the next week.”

“Do they smell? I thought it was just potatoes.”

“Well, they’re fried in olive oil. They taste delicious, but the scent lingers.”

“That’s strange. I’ve been frying food all my life, but we would have never used olive oil back home in the pub.”

“It’s the miracle of Hanukkah – the olive oil at the Temple that burned for eight days instead of one. I thought you read the Wikipedia article!”

“I may have skimmed it,” Eames admitted. “Mostly I just looked at the picture of jam doughnuts. Are we making those, too?” His face lit up.

“No, that’s more of a Sephardic thing, and my family is all Ashkenazi, so we never had jam doughnuts. Does sound good, though.” Arthur lifted the pot off the active burner and switched off the flame.

“Alright, so latkes happen at a party, mostly for efficiency. Whose latke party are we going to, then?”

“My sister has invited us to her party. She lives in London, remember? I bought us tickets on the Chunnel train so we can go for the evening. I hope that’s alright with you.” Arthur began ladling the warm apple mixture into the ricer and squeezing out the resulting puree into a mixing bowl.

“Yeah,” Eames said. “That sounds fantastic. I’m really excited to meet her, Arthur.”

“Well, I’ve told her you’re a liar and a thief, so there’s nowhere to go but up,” Arthur ribbed.

“I’m sure she’ll be able to tell that I’ve stolen your heart, darling.”

Arthur flung a piece of apple at Eames with a spoon.


	7. The Seventh Night – The Night of the Latke Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the writer tries not to think too hard about latkes, lest she end up overdosing on sour cream.

Eames tapped his foot nervously as Arthur knocked on the door to his sister’s flat in Kensington. He’d been fairly calm on the way to Gare du Nord, felt butterflies in his stomach while they were on the Eurostar, and, by the time they’d gotten on the tube, even the familiar London surroundings couldn’t calm the anxiety that seemed to be radiating from Eames.

“It’s okay,” Arthur whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. The other clutched onto the giant container of applesauce that he had made the day before. It looked so domestic that Eames couldn’t make sense of it all. He was used to it in the confines of their own apartment, when it was just the two of them, but it felt different to be showing this side of themselves to other people, after so many months of hiding their affection around their coworkers. “You don’t have to worry.” His voice was deep and steady. Eames took a deep breath.

“Arthur!” a voice shouted from the opposite side of the door. It flung open and, all of a sudden, Arthur was yanked inside in a tight hug. “Arthur, it’s been so long! And this must be your partner.” She let Arthur go and turned to take a look at Eames.

“Eames, this is my sister, Naomi.”

Naomi gave Eames a quick hug before shooing him in the door. “Nice to meet you, Eames. So excited for Arthur to bring someone around. And this is my wife, Stephanie,” she said, going on her tiptoes to give the grinning red-haired woman next to her a kiss on the cheek. Eames put his hand out for a handshake.

“We’re early,” Arthur said, surveying the room. “Probably not ready to eat yet.”

“Well, we asked you to come a little bit early just to catch up,” Stephanie explained as Naomi grabbed the applesauce and scurried off to what Eames presumed must be the kitchen.

“I think you probably just wanted help with the cooking,” Arthur said, his voice light and full of mirth in a way that Eames rarely saw him with other people.

“Well, yes. We can catch up while you get to work! Come on, you two,” she said, leading them into the kitchen. “Eames, why don’t you start shredding some potatoes while you tell us a bit about yourself?”

++

Eames lay on the couch with his head in Arthur’s lap, giggling at something he had said. He was feeling much calmer now after spending a few hours with Naomi and Stephanie, who were so openly affectionate – and, well, because of the red wine that was coursing through his system. It was still a bit odd, seeing Arthur with his sister – especially seeing Arthur _teased_ by his sister – but he was really starting to like it.

There was just one thing that was bothering him, though.

“Darling,” he said, looking up and brushing one hand across Arthur’s cheek, “my stomach hurts.”

Naomi and Arthur immediately started laughing. “Hey!” Eames said.

“That’s the thing about latkes,” Stephanie explained. “Delicious, but they sit like rocks in your tum.”

“Sorry, Eames,” Arthur said between laughs. “It’s only funny because I’ve been there myself so many times. This is not like your incident with the gelt.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

Arthur grinned. “Well, it would have been awfully rude of you not to take a second helping.”


	8. The Eighth Night – The Night of Dreidel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The short final scene. Health warning: this chapter is particularly tooth-rotting.

Arthur and Eames got back late the next morning from London, after Eames had fallen asleep on Naomi and Stephanie’s couch the night before and Arthur had decided just to let him rest. They’d tried to go out for brunch – Arthur and Naomi lamenting the lack of proper Jewish delis, insisting that they should be filling up on blintzes, while Stephanie groaned that if she ate again, she might die – but ended up just eating back at their flat after finding every “acceptable” place to be too busy.

Eames collapsed in bed as soon as they got home. “Need a nap,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Okay,” Arthur said. “Think I’ll join you.”

Arthur woke up – and then poked Eames until his eyes opened – at around two in the afternoon. “Time to shower,” he said, dragging Eames into the bathroom with him. They showered, slowly and lazily, letting their hands roam while they enjoyed the hot water.

++

“Are we doing anything in particular tonight to ring in the New Year?” Eames asked.

“I was thinking we’d continue to drink wine,” Arthur said, saluting Eames with his glass, “get tipsy and then fall asleep by nine.”

“Sounds perfect. No funny business before bed, though?”

“I’m not sixteen anymore,” Arthur said. “I’m basically done for the day.”

“Alas, we grow old,” Eames lamented. “We shall wear the bottom of our trousers rolled.” He picked up Arthur’s ankle from where his legs were resting on Eames’s and began to play with the cuff.

“Don’t wrinkle them,” Arthur mumbled. “I made you something,” he added, digging around in the pocket of his slacks – how he could keep something in pants so tailored with Eames noticing, he’d never know – and then reaching his closed hand out to Eames.

It was a dreidel, carved out of wood and with a lacquered finish. Eames tossed it from hand to hand, feeling the weight of it.

“Look on the top,” Arthur suggested. Eames looked at the cross-section of the stem, where Arthur had carved into it _æ 2016_.

“Oh,” Eames said softly. “I love it, Arthur.”

“To commemorate our first Hanukkah,” Arthur said, “and to making new traditions together.” He leaned over and kissed Eames before picking up both of their empty wine glasses and taking them back to the kitchen while Eames started to spin the dreidel.

“Hey!” Eames called out for a few moments. “This thing always lands on _nun_! You loaded my dreidel!”

“I think it only makes sense, narratively, that I end up with the entire pot,” Arthur said, “since I seem to have won everything I wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and left kudos and commented! I appreciate you all very much <3 And happy Hanukkah!


End file.
